Human Behavior
by KCS
Summary: Five human behaviors Spock did not understand, and one that he definitely did understand. Six-shot, revolving around the episode Operation - Annihilate! and all its aftermath that we didn't see on screen.  Mainly Kirk, Spock, Peter Kirk interaction. Gen.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Human Behavior (1/6)  
**Characters**: Spock, Kirk, various including McCoy, Peter Kirk  
**Rating**: T for theme, though I'm probably way over-reacting  
**Word Count**: (this chapter) 4,820  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Operation - Annihilate_!. Reference to theme of Stockholm Syndrome referring to the neurological parasites. References to deleted scenes and script from _OA_. Yes, I am slightly obsessed with _OA_, but it's my favorite episode. :P Speculation for this and the other parts of the arc. Shameless h/c and character exploration. Lack of plot. The usual, in other words. Don't say I didn't warn you.  
**Summary**: _**Five human behaviors Spock did not understand, and one that he definitely did understand. **_Six-shot, revolving around the episode _Operation - Annihilate! _and all its aftermath. This began as a prompt for my H/C Bingo Card spot of _Stockholm Syndrome _(which is squicky for me, so I wasn't about to go the usual route with it), and then begged for resolution, which then led to a five-and-one idea, which then morphed into this. I'm not pretending it's anything other than fanservice and H/C, written because I'm sick and feeling down myself; so don't expect perfection or anything resembling it. And yes, from some reviews I've gotten recently, I do need to warn for lack of literary content - so **BE VERY AFRAID OF MY SHAMELESS H/C, PPL**. Happy?

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**VI. Stockholm Syndrome**

Humanity, as a race, was a most illogical species. Spock had spent many years in an effort to comprehend the subtleties of human communication, the intricacies of its physical and verbal humor, the sense – or lack of it – behind its actions…and had, even now, utterly failed. He simply was unable to grasp the logic behind many of the facets which were characteristic to this most fascinating of species.

Some such quirks, while he did not understand, he found to be amusing, such as Dr. McCoy's habit of snarling at his morning wake-up alarm (which was utterly unable to hear or obey the somewhat crude demands the physician made of it). Some had a bit of twisted logic behind them, meaning he could at least follow the badly-connected train of thought, such as the reasoning behind the actions of monsters such as Earth's Adolf Hitler, and Tarsus IV's Kodos. Eugenics did hold a sort of warped logic, from the proper point of view; while he certainly did not approve (quite the opposite) their actions, he did understand them.

But some human behaviors he had either never encountered, or else so rarely beheld that they remained utterly incomprehensible to his mind.

This peculiarity was one such behavior.

He had read the Chief Medical Officer's psychological diagnosis and report on the condition of the inhabitants of Deneva following the satellite-oriented destruction of the neurological parasites which had infested the planet, and when the unfamiliar term popped up periodically in the assessments he desired a more detailed description, and went to Sickbay accordingly to get one.

"Classic Stockholm Syndrome, I'm afraid, Mr. Spock," was the sighed answer to his inquiry, and McCoy's tired eyes looked even more morose. "I've never heard of it directed toward a non-sentient captor but it's nonetheless quite real. A good part of those people down there are actually questioning why we killed those…monsters, like the one that got you before we beamed back to the ship."

"Questioning…the organisms' destruction?"

"Exactly." The physician slumped down into a chair, uncharacteristically not caring if his exhaustion were evident to his audience. "You should hear the things they're saying," he murmured. "…that we basically murdered a whole race of creatures, that the things didn't really mean them any harm, it was their right to survive how they could, that if the colonists just did what the creatures asked that they were taken care of just fine, that they'd lived there for eight months and had learned to live in symbiosis…it's classic case after classic case, Spock. And there's nothin' at this point that we can really do about it. The planet's gonna need a whole team of psycho-therapists, and Starfleet's takin' its sweet time about putting one together."

"I understand what constitutes that mental aberration known as 'Stockholm syndrome,' Doctor, but I cannot comprehend such a mentality itself," he replied frankly, utterly at a loss, and he inwardly shuddered at the memory of what agony the monsters had caused in his own body and mind. Blindness had, truly, been preferable to their influence; even death would have been, after a few more hours. Granted, his pain was due to the fact that he had fought the organisms at every step – possibly if he had submitted, the pain would have vanished, even leaving some sense of euphoria of relief in its place, but still…

"The creatures inflicted such pain that even Vulcan pain management was incapable of conquering it for longer than a few minutes at a time. The creatures have, by the last tally, killed a third of Deneva's adult population, and one-eighth of its children, primarily those old enough to be of use in the ship-construction. How could any intelligent race believe freedom from such mindless torture and complete mental control merits sympathy?"

"Don't ask me to explain the human psyche, Spock!" McCoy snapped wearily, rubbing his eyes. "I've got enough problems tryin' to keep one particular player in this whole mess from emotionally compromising himself until we get well away from here, at least!"

"Of course, Doctor," he replied quietly. "I regret disturbing you."

"Spock –" the physician broke off, shook his head. "I'm sorry," he added simply, blue eyes blinking tiredly up at the Vulcan.

"It is quite understandable, Doctor. Please see to it that, once this is over, you take your own prescription and rest appropriately."

"That, Mr. Spock, is an order I will have absolutely no problem obeying."

He was pleased to see some of the tension leave the human's tightly-strung posture, but the unease remained and spread to his own mind as they prepared to beam down to the planet and its highly illogical inhabitants.

-ooo-

Spock had once, under Christopher Pike's command, attended a large-scale wake on Planet R-52 in the Laurentian system; a volcano had suddenly erupted on a Federation science colony, burying nearly half the populated continent's surface area. It had been a tragedy, and one he would not soon forget.

But he had never attended one where the dead had numbered so many three days before that their remains had been buried in family plots, due to a simple lack of time to properly embalm and inter each victim. The dead numbered in the thousands – and what was worse, there were countless victims which had _not_ been buried over the eight months in which the parasites had infested the colony, and were simply in varying stages of decomposition – and rather than hold funerals in the Terran tradition for each, the governor of the colonists had simply declared today a day of memorial for the victims of the parasitic invasion.

Due to the sheer mass of people, the ceremony was only minutes from starting by the time he had made his tortuous way through the crowd to finally squeeze into place beside a green-gold dress uniform, which was wavering back and forth as its wearer uneasily shifted his weight from left to right foot. Jim flicked him a grateful, slightly relieved, look, before that and all other emotions were carefully folded away under a blank, bland mask of professional duty.

A façade which did not deceive him for an instant.

They were standing to the immediate right of the small platform erected for the speakers of the ceremony to stand upon. Governor Schival was to perform the memorial service, with his two Lieutenant-Governors each performing the cultural rituals required by the non-Terran colonists who had died. Schival had asked Captain Kirk to speak as well, and the human could not refuse the request, as the _Enterprise_ had been the ship which discovered the method of destroying the invaders.

Spock was well aware, after lightly brushing his fingertips over the tense muscles of the arm beside him, that Jim was dreading giving the address, the thought of it actually threatening to make him physically ill.

Technically Spock was not supposed to be standing in the speakers' box.

He was not about to leave it, and naturally no one would dare to ask Commander Spock of the Enterprise to vacate his position. He, as the Terran saying went, _would like to see them try._

The area was filled with a mass of milling colonists, and after cautiously dropping his mental shields a fraction he was slightly alarmed at the rampant variety of emotions which assailed his telepathic senses. Pain and grief were to be expected, disbelief and shock as well, but this undercurrent of bitterness, anger…hatred, in some cases, was cause for concern.

The momentary lowering of his barriers had immediately indicated to him the precise locations of the Enterprise crew which had beamed down in a show of support for their Captain; he knew without looking where McCoy was standing with Nurse Chapel and the boy, Peter Kirk, as well as knowing exactly where the rest of the command chain and crew were stationed at strategic points around the location. He refrained of course from any outward display, but resolved in a mental note to commend Mr. Scott for his intelligence and foresight in directing the crew to fan out with a sensible number of Security personnel, to be prepared in case of any disquiet arising.

The dropping of his shields had also alerted him to the fact that his captain was not faring as well as he wished his crew to believe. In the six days which had transpired since their first approach to Deneva, he was well aware the captain had not had more than three hours' sleep at a stretch. Kirk had lost his brother and sister-in-law, and had had to face the idea of losing more than that if he made the wrong choice regarding the organisms. In the last forty-eight hours, Kirk and the _Enterprise_ had made runs to the other planets in the system, backtracking the spread of insanity which had sent them to the sector in the first place, and placing satellites in orbit around the infected planets.

They had returned to Deneva this planet's afternoon, for the memorial ceremony after which George and Aurelan Kirk's remains would be sprinkled in the memorial park along with other victims whose living relations wished that to be their remembrance.

He raised his shields again reluctantly, for it was unethical to not do so, but kept a strict eye upon his captain. Schival's address droned on for slightly longer than was, in his opinion, in good taste given the crowd's mixed attitudes, but he could not fault the man for wishing the ceremony to be as thorough as possible for the families of the victims of the tragedy. The afternoon sun's intense rays beat down on the area, and he remained alert to the milling colonists' increasingly unhappy tempers which resulted from the rise in temperature.

James Kirk's face was uncomfortably flushed above the pale green of his dress uniform by the time he was to speak on behalf of the Federation – not as a grieving family member, he could not even be that today, but as an ambassador of the organization which sent the colonists to Deneva in the first place in the name of Science and Exploration.

Throughout this first hour of the service, the captain had been utterly silent, and had never once looked at Spock. Once, and only once, when the governor had mentioned that those who had died were those who, through sheer strength of will, had fought the most gallantly against the organisms, did Kirk stiffen, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Spock edged slightly closer, enough that their opposing shoulders brushed against each other with the satin rustle of dress fabric, and the rigid tension had faded slightly in the human after he had done so.

But now, it was Kirk's turn to speak, as a Starfleet representative and as the man responsible for providing the method of killing the parasites which had destroyed the colonists who were being memorialized today. Kirk mounted the platform amid the expectant silence which followed the governor's announcement, and turned to face the crowd at loose parade rest, his face composed and calm, sunlight glinting off the well-deserved medals he reluctantly wore on occasions such as these.

Only Spock, closer to the platform and at the precise angle to clearly view, could see that the man's hands were clenched so tightly behind his back that they were actually shaking.

"_Ex astris, scientia_," Kirk spoke up suddenly, and the murmurs that had rippled through the crowd as recognition set in died down. "_From the stars, knowledge_. That is the creed by which we of Starfleet live, you know that as well as I do. While not all of you have graduated from Starfleet Academy, you are nonetheless here, on this planet, in this star system, for one united, grand purpose – to gain knowledge from the stars."

The captain's face lightened slightly, as he warmed to a topic close to his heart. "That is why all of us – Captain, Midshipman, Scientist, Colonist – why we are all standing here, today. That is the reason for which you decided to colonize this world; to further a dream that is, to many underdeveloped worlds, just that – only a dream. And _dreams_, ladies and gentlemen, are worth living for."

Kirk's eyes glinted, and his voice dropped to a more subdued tone. "They are also, sadly, worth _dying_ for."

An unhappy murmur flickered through the crowd, and Spock saw the human's hands clench tighter behind his back.

"It is a less glamorous part of this business, yes – but it is unfortunately true," he carried on, the powerful tone which Spock had seen make nations bow to the inexorable force that was James T. Kirk ringing clearly in the courtyard. "We are not out here to be safe, we are not out here to perform cautious experiments and never seek new worlds and new life forms. We are not here," and his head snapped up in stiff attention, "to risk nothing, and therefore to go down into history, as _nothing_."

Spock had before seen this particular human sway an entire delegation of superior beings by the sheer power of his oratorical ability, had watched in stupefied mystification as this one small human could back down beings three times his size. But even such a dynamic personality could not fully control the disturbed mental processes of an unstable mob, and he felt the warning prickle of danger begin to flick gently at the back of his telepathic consciousness.

Kirk stood at ramrod-straight attention, his eyes raking the crowd. "Planetary colonization is a risky venture, as we are all aware – but it is an integral part of this expansion into the stars, the explorations that centuries ago our people only dreamed of! Your people who have been lost in this…catastrophe, are as much heroes of our cause as are any Federation officers who fall in battle aboard their starships." The captain's eyes softened, and his gaze flickered briefly over to his wide-eyed nephew standing well within McCoy's protective grip. "The Federation has issued its deepest condolences to those of you who have…lost family members, and friends, in the wake of this tragedy. They are the true heroes of this battle, not we who found the means of disposing of the threat."

Spock made no move, but mentally jumped to alert status as a wave of human anger washed threateningly against his shields. Fortunately, Kirk seemed to sense the change in the crowd – he had always been perceptive of moods, part of his skill as a leader – and simply stood for a moment in a silent salute of respect for the dead, before retreating to his place beside the raised platform, descending with the bland captain's mask still firmly affixed in place.

Governor Schival and his Lieutenant-Governors finished the memorial service, and at least Spock was somewhat relieved to see that while it was obvious something was wrong with the crowd, none of them had so little respect for the dead that they would destroy the solemnity of the memorial.

What happened afterwards was another story.

Once the ceremony had concluded, the family members who wished the remains of their deceased to be sprinkled in the memorial park were permitted inside the roped-off area, to wander as they wished along the flower-sprinkled paths and softly rushing fountains, to select the location they felt best for their loved ones' final resting-place.

Spock watched, vacillating in uncertainty, as Peter Kirk walked up to take his place next to his uncle, carefully carrying a simple silver urn containing the remains of George and Aurelan Kirk. The Governor had specified that only family members were permitted into the park, simply for sake of space, but the look of barely-veiled panic he saw in his captain's expression was a plea for help if he ever saw one.

McCoy's extremely pointed glare, which had it been capable would have burned a hole through his head by now, added the impetus for him to step cautiously up to the two.

"H'lo, Mr. Spock," Peter Kirk greeted him, subdued but obviously not displeased with his presence; he and the child had had several long talks while confined to Sickbay following their recovery from their respective treatments.

He gravely inclined his head in greeting, and turned a questioning look toward his captain as the child moved toward the entrance of the park.

"Sir, the governor's request for family members only was quite clear –"

"Spock." The human was breathing shallowly, hands clenched tightly behind him in an effort to hide the fact that his carefully-strung composure, so rigid and unyielding for nearly a week, was in danger of crumbling. Kirk looked up at him finally, swallowed hard, and spoke. "Spock, you're the closest thing I have left to a brother, now. I don't care what the Governor said. I…" and it was obvious how much the admission chafed the human's pride, "…I need you. I don't like the look of some of this crowd." The man's eyes were worried, tense, reflecting his own unease. "If something gets out of hand, I'm going to need your level head, because I'm not exactly at my best right now."

He would never refuse such a request, even had he ever wished to do so. "As you wish," he replied gently, and received a look of almost pathetic gratitude before they hurried to catch up with the child.

The park was quiet as befitted its subject matter, the only sounds being quiet conversation and the distant sound of rushing water from somewhere behind the privacy hedges. Even the Denevan birds were rather quiet, trilling gently in the trees and bushes and occasionally chirping to break the stillness. The park itself was an agriculturally prolific area, filled with many kinds of varying-hued flora, and held many benches and secluded areas for privacy, as befitted its intentions.

The two humans were silent, the child looking about him with wide, sad eyes, and Kirk himself walking almost blindly, eyes downcast and posture so tense it seemed one wrong move might cause him to snap entirely. Spock was silent, out of respect for their behavior and also because he simply had no idea what might aid either of them; his earlier efforts aboard ship had been received well enough by the child but his captain had rejected them quite emphatically, almost uncharacteristically so.

Peter Kirk was on his way to dealing with the tragedy; his uncle was nowhere even close.

Finally the child stopped under the shade of a flowering tree, the ground carpeted with what Spock recognized as something quite similar to Terran cherry-blossoms. Peter cocked a questioning eye up at his uncle, and Kirk smiled for the first time.

"You remember the farm, then? I'd have thought you were too young," he spoke, lifting his head and closing his eyes as the wind brought down a dusting of silky petals to shower them.

"I 'member you falling out of the tree and Dad screaming his head off 'cause he thought you broke your neck," the child retorted, grinning despite the sadness evident in the blue eyes as he set the urn gently on one of the small stone shelves obviously placed under the tree for that purpose.

Spock silently edged himself backward several paces, ready to aid if needed but other than that only listening in silence.

The captain's face relaxed slightly as he chuckled. "Your mother nearly murdered me when she found out I'd taken you tree-climbing in the orchard. She was a mean woman with a wooden spoon."

The child giggled, and then the amusement faded slowly, painfully, from his expression, no doubt with the realization that he would never again see such a thing. The tousled head drooped, a lock of unruly red hair flopping down over his forehead, and for the first time Spock saw the boy begin to cry silently, one small fist scrubbing in helpless grief at his eyes as his breath hitched painfully.

He watched as James Kirk knelt in the petal-strewn grass in front of the child, careless of his dress uniform pants becoming stained with damp earth, and pulled the boy close, hugging him tightly as the child's tears finally came. The captain's face was carefully blank, betraying nothing, and while Spock recognized the necessity of remaining strong for the grieving child he could not help but see that it was not just Peter Kirk who needed such release.

Unsure of what exactly he should do, and unwilling to further eavesdrop, he edged slightly away from the tree to stand in the path, aimlessly examining and cataloguing the bright green insectoid which landed with a short click of hard-shelled wings on the front of his tunic.

Then he heard voices, their volume too loud in his opinion for such a sacred place, approaching through a copse of small elm-like trees.

He set the curious insect on a broad leaf of a nearby bush, and turned to regard the newcomers – a trio of men in the standard yellow or salmon-colored jumpsuits which were the clothing for the scientists with which George Samuel Kirk had worked. Perhaps they were merely coming to bury a fellow scientist, then, who had no family…but they carried nothing which would house the remains.

He could not specify a reason, illogical as it was, but he felt a sudden unease, and turned on instinct to see that Kirk and the child were still unaware of the men's approach. He had heard Jim say once that something 'made his skin crawl,' but had never understood the feeling until now, the unease that warned him to move himself to block the path, instead of standing courteously to one side as he had been.

Within twenty-three seconds, the three men had reached the path, and were looking at him in some surprise.

"Who're you?" the foremost asked, small dark eyes glittering at him in mild hostility.

The speaker was swatted on the back of the head by the second human, a slightly more intelligent-looking creature with blond hair and a wary expression. "He's Captain Kirk's Vulcan First Officer, Charlie. Don't be such an idiot."

Spock heartily agreed with the command, but did not say so.

"Commander, we're looking for Captain Kirk," the second man said, posing it as a question instead of the statement it was.

"The Captain is currently with his nephew, paying his last respects to his deceased brother and sister-in-law." Spock regarded the men warily, for it was obvious they were not family members and as such he had no idea how they had managed to get in the park, much less find one man among so many.

"Still?" the third human spoke, looking bored. "How long does it take?"

Spock refused to respond to the rude inquiry; encouraging such idiocy by response was foolishness.

The first human edged to the left, his progress blocked by a thick hedge, and tried to see around the Vulcan's unmoving figure. "Look, Commander, let's be reasonable; we don't have a lot of time here before we have to get back to cleaning up the lab, and I want to ask Kirk a few things," he said.

"Whatever they might be, I am certain they will wait until Captain Kirk is finished with his private business." And if he placed a bit too much emphasis on _captain_ and _private_, he could not find it in himself to regret the tiny flare of human irritation. Even a Vulcan had limits. "Which may not be for some time," he could not help but add.

The men scowled, and for an instant something chilled, clammy, unreasonable poked against his mental shields; something was not right with this man's mental signature. He tensed instinctively. "Perhaps you could relay your questions through me, and the captain will return his answers when he is able to do so," he suggested.

The humans seemed to entirely miss the icy edge in his tone, for they only looked angry. "Well sure, if you just want to ask him why he decided to kill off thousands of those creatures we've been living with for all these months!" The speaker, Charlie, had raised his voice to an unacceptable level. Spock briefly contemplated the diplomatic repercussions for nerve-pinching a Federation scientist in a planet's burial park.

The second man spoke up, earnestly. "They weren't really hurting anyone, unless you were too stupid to cooperate with them. Once we understood them and wanted to help, they didn't do anything to us. You people shouldn't have just destroyed them all!"

Spock felt a brief surge of sickness at the thought that this reason was why these men were still alive, and stronger, nobler men like Sam Kirk were dead; a lack of will had ensured survival, and those strong enough to fight what was happening to them had died for their efforts.

He was dismayed to hear footsteps on the path behind him; Jim had no doubt heard the raised voices.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Spock?" The captain's voice sounded in his ear, calm and coolly disinterested, but he was not deceived. No smaller footsteps had accompanied the man; he must have instructed the child Peter to remain behind at the tree.

He shifted slightly so that Jim could see, but not enough that the captain could move in front of him on the narrow path; he was going to remain a barrier between these two forces.

"Captain Kirk?"

Kirk eyed the human with a narrowed gaze. "Yes?"

"We worked with your brother, George," the second man offered, more diplomatic than Charlie had been thus far.

"And?" Kirk's expression did not change; still in place remained the cool mask of a diplomat, the serene façade of an unruffled leader.

"I think you ought to know, those creatures weren't really trying to hurt us, Captain."

"George just couldn't understand them, wouldn't do what they asked us to do – that's why they killed him," the third man added, oblivious to the fact that the captain's face was slowly leeching color as he spoke. "If he had just stopped fighting them, they wouldn't have killed him."

"They didn't deserve to be exterminated like some pest infestation!" Charlie interjected irritably, glaring in unveiled hostility at the captain.

Spock heard the shallow inhalation behind him, felt the man tense to the point that he would certainly snap in another moment's time, would do or say something he would certainly regret later.

He smoothly stepped fully in front of Kirk, interposing himself between the mentally disturbed scientists and his captain. "Your concerns are duly noted, gentlemen; but this is not the time and place to discuss them," he intoned in what he had been told by a well-meaning Ensign Chekov was a tone that could make junior officers…lose control of their bodily functions. "Should you feel Starfleet need be informed of your views, you may submit them through the proper channels via the proper methods."

"Now look, Mr. Spock, we just –"

"This interview is concluded, _gentlemen_." And Surak forgive him for the glowering menace he allowed to seep into the words (and the slight telepathic shove of _rageangerprotectiveness_ he sent their direction), but the efforts were successful.

The men gaped, open-mouthed, and then fled along the path back into the trees, toward the entrance.

He stood, watchful of their return, and in those ten seconds mentally composed a report to forward to McCoy regarding this deplorable state of mental instability known as Stockholm Syndrome, until he could no longer hear their footsteps among the trees.

Then, he was somewhat startled to feel a sudden warm pressure on a small area of his back, just below his shoulder, for a brief instant. A small, despairing sigh fluttered into the air.

James Kirk had slumped forward to for just a moment rest his forehead against the cool fabric of his First's dress uniform, and Spock could feel in that brief contact the gratitude and relief that sang through the human's weary mind. Then a moment later the man had straightened up again, all exhaustion carefully shelved in the fact of professionalism.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," the human said quietly, and then returned to where he had left his nephew under the blossoming pseudo-cherry tree.

To terrify those who disturbed the well-being of his captain was only logical; thanks were, therefore, unnecessary.

Besides, he reflected with something as close to regret as a Vulcan could be permitted to approach, he had done nothing that would truly help; a state which he vowed to rectify in the near future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Human Behavior (2/6)  
**Characters**: Spock, Kirk, various including McCoy, Peter Kirk, OCs  
**Rating**: K+  
**Word Count**: (this chapter) 4,313  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Operation - Annihilate_!. Reference to theme of Stockholm Syndrome referring to the neurological parasites. References to deleted scenes and script from _OA_. Yes, I am slightly obsessed with _OA_, but it's my favorite episode. :P Speculation for this and the other parts of the arc. Shameless h/c and character exploration. Lack of plot. The usual, in other words. Don't say I didn't warn you.  
**Summary**: _** Five human behaviors Spock did not understand, and one that he definitely did understand. **_ Six-shot, revolving around the episode _Operation - Annihilate! _and all its aftermath.

**A/N:** NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, so don't be concerned if I disappear for a while as I'm a glutton for punishment enough to sign up again this year. Between it and working holiday hours in retail, I'll have very little time at a time for anything else. But hopefully, when the month is over, I'll have a new Holmes fic for the first time in months. :)

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**V. Childhood Resilience**

He had silently stood guard over his captain and the child for nearly an hour, after which time they retired from the memorial park to give privacy to another family who desired to utilize the pseudo-cherry tree as their loved one's final resting-place. Spock was, he would not deny, pleased to see that Dr. McCoy had remained well within eyesight of the entrance to the park. He was accompanied by a squad of Security guards in dress scarlets, who immediately closed in before and behind them as they made their egress.

Kirk's eyes widened a fraction as Kevin Riley and Jeffery Garrovick saluted with appropriate solemnity and fell into place before their captain, a barrier between him and anyone who intended to intrude upon the privacy of the _Enterprise_'s commander. Spock favored the two who brought up the rear with a curt nod of approval, again mentally noting a commendation to Montgomery Scott for his foresight in choosing whom to send; he had not thought of need for protection against a human mob, as the idea of such desecratory rudeness would never occur to a Vulcan.

Peter Kirk waved as their CMO approached; the child had, for some reason utterly incomprehensible to Spock, attached himself to the doctor like a Euridian leech-worm during the six days he had spent aboard the Enterprise before their return to Deneva. Whatever his faults, McCoy was still a healer, and a father, and perhaps that was what had attracted the little boy to the gentle physician.

Now, McCoy smiled down at the child, after nodding in acknowledgment to their silent captain, and the little one smiled back. "How're you doing, young fella?" the physician asked, accent more pronounced due to exhaustion.

"'M okay, Dr. Bones." The words were accompanied by a small shrug, and Spock saw a brief smile glimmer across the captain's face, for the child had picked up on McCoy's nickname at some point and the physician had never had the heart to correct him.

The doctor turned to Kirk, asking something to which the captain smiled sadly and shook his head, responding so quietly Spock could not overhear.

Which event left him free to hear snatches of conversations that were occurring in various pockets around them.

"Mr. Garrovick," he said in a low tone, without taking his eyes off his scanning of the crowd.

"Yes, sir?"

"I trust such measures will not be necessary, but in the event they become so: on my order, you will call for an emergency beam-out of the captain and his nephew to the _Enterprise_. In the event that I am not present: if this crowd, as you would say, _gets ugly_, you shall take the initiative and give the order yourself, if necessary without clearing said order with the captain. Am I understood?"

The young man's eyes hardened, and he glared at the closest knot of belligerent colonists. "Clearly, sir. You think there's going to be trouble, Commander?"

"I believe that is what I just said, Ensign," he replied dryly, and could only hope that his precautions would remain just that – only precautions.

"Look out, mister!"

Suddenly, his vision had only just time to register a blur of yellow and pink before an object of pliable semi-solidity struck his torso just above the waist, bouncing off with an airy thud. A child's plaything – some sort of rubber ball, apparently – rolled a few inches away and stopped at the feet of a wide-eyed human child.

It had not been any sort of inconvenience, much less had caused damage; and even if it had, the low laugh he heard from the captain at the sight of his raised eyebrows would have negated any resulting unpleasantness from the encounter.

The little one could not be more than two or possibly three years of age, with a face full of enormous blue eyes and curls the color of Vulcan sand at mid-day. She stood, one finger in a small mouth, staring up wide-eyed…at his ears.

Sighing was a human action, and therefore he did not indulge in it.

An older child, a dark-haired human boy about Peter Kirk's age, flew up to them from the side just in front of a woman in her late twenties, and the family resemblance among the three was obvious.

"Awful sorry, mister, I didn't mean to kick it that hard…holy _cow_, what're you?"

He raised an eyebrow, amused at the horrified look on the young mother's face; there was no need, for curiosity was one emotion that was both permitted and accepted in all species. But Peter Kirk piped up from behind him before he could offer explanation.

"He's a Vulcan, Tommy! They're like the smartest people in the galaxy!"

"Hardly," he interjected calmly, and saw the young woman relax slowly as he appeared to be unoffended by the child's inquisitiveness (quite the opposite, as many young ones of alien species viewed strangers such as himself with distrust rather than the refreshing curiosity of these). "There exist many life-forms which surpass Vulcans in areas of intelligence and imagination."

"Yeah but you have cooler ears I betcha," Peter informed him, quite seriously, and Spock heard Lieutenant Riley ingest a passing insect, which triggered a vigorous coughing fit in the hapless human.

Jim's lips were twitching suspiciously, and Dr. McCoy was making no such effort to hide his cackling. "James Kirk, ma'am," the captain spoke, smiling at the young woman. "Do you know my nephew?"

Flustered, the woman tucked a stray curl behind her left ear and nodded. "I'm Ariel Brown. You're Aurelan's brother-in-law, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," he replied softly.

"I work with my husband at the recycling plant four blocks from the labs," Ariel said, eyes soft. "She is…was my day-sitter for Julia and Tommy."

A sudden crease appeared between the captain's sandy brows, bespeaking of pain well-hidden from spectators. "I'm…so sorry," he whispered.

The woman glanced up from where she had checked to make sure the children were still nearby, obviously confused. "Whatever for?" she asked, dark eyes wide with bewilderment.

"For…" Spock saw the man pause, a sudden realization lighting the still, sad eyes for a moment, and he wished to personally thank this woman for her innocent inquiry. There was nothing any of them could have done differently, nothing that would change what had happened, nothing that would make guilt deserved for any of them; and the first step to healing would be for Jim to see that and admit it to himself.

"Captain Kirk," and the woman spared a moment to look down at her toddler, who was still staring at them wide-eyed. "Those…things, were everywhere. I and my husband were both affected…and so were my children. My _baby_, Captain, one of those things was _inside my_ _baby_." Her dark eyes sparked with the fury only nature itself understood, the truly terrifying sight of a female protecting her young. "If you had not found a way to kill those horrible creatures they would've murdered my _children_."

Blinking far too rapidly, finally Jim's gaze dropped to the little one staring up at them, and then flicked back to his nephew, who was crouched on the ground beside the other human child. Peter was currently in the middle of a (highly-exaggerated) account of the workings of the cross-pollination experiments in the _Enterprise_'s Botany Lab Four, complete with diagrams scribbled on the pavement with a piece of chalk.

Hazel eyes moved upward to meet his own, and while Spock was not overly religious he thanked any deity who might be listening that he was still capable of sight; that would have been one more burden that this human did not deserve to bear.

The tiny girl took two toddling steps closer, and yanked firmly on the leg of the captain's uniform trousers. "Up," she commanded severely, reaching up with one small hand.

"Um," was the highly intelligent response, and the captain cast a helpless look at his crew, who were studiously turning their eyes to watch for any signs of trouble (now that the square was nearly deserted). Finally Kirk glanced back to the woman, who was smiling. "May I?"

Ariel laughed. "Of course, Captain. And," she added hesitantly, as the man dropped to one knee to swing the toddler up into his arms, careful to not tangle her curls on anything, "if…if you've no plans for the night…Tommy and Peter haven't seen much of each other, it might be good for them to have a bit. We live just 'round the corner from…from your brother's home."

"Ooo," Julia commented succinctly, one tiny finger tracing the Sliver Palm and cluster (1) which was fastened to the captain's uniform, and the man's features softened as he looked down at the little one.

"Am I the only one that thinks that's ridiculously adorable?" Garrovick whispered covertly to Riley, and the man grinned, knowing better than anyone else just how powerful an influence this man could be over a child. (2)

Spock shot Garrovick a withering look, and the man straightened up on the instant, blushing to the roots of his hair.

"I'm sure you have a hundred other things to do aboard your ship, Captain…but we'd at least like to offer you some coffee, if you can't stay for more," Ariel was finishing slowly, toying with the small handbag she held.

Kirk looked distinctly uncomfortable, hiding his eyes behind the mop of red curls atop the baby's head. "I…appreciate the offer, Mrs. Brown. But –" he broke off suddenly, and Spock followed his gaze over to the two young boys, who were engrossed in a small copy of the Starfleet Academy cadet handbook some crewman on board had laughingly given Peter earlier in the week. "Well," the captain amended, closing his eyes over the child's head for a moment, "it will be good for him…for a while, at least. If it's no trouble, ma'am."

"None," she assured him. Then, as the captain awkwardly looked from side to side at his companions, she continued. "You are all welcome, if you can be spared, Captain."

"Mr. Riley, if you and your men will beam back to the ship," Kirk spoke over the child's head, and though the tone was calm and business-like his eyes were warm. "Do not think for a moment that I don't appreciate what you've done here today, gentlemen."

"Pleasure, sir," the young man nodded, saluting smartly for the benefit of the children watching. "Mr. Scott, four to beam up."

"If you've nothing crucial in your laboratories which will blow up my ship in a few hours, gentlemen, then I'd like the pleasure of your company. Doctor?"

Spock released a small amount of tension, for he was more aware than anyone else aboard just how strained the relationship between the captain and the physician had been, following the full-spectrum light test and its disastrous results. Jim had apologized for blaming his CMO for blinding his First, and yet the rift had not fully healed; mainly due to lack of sleep, grief, and stress keeping them far too busy to truly speak.

A rare smile crossed the doctor's face. "Be glad to, Jim," he replied with obvious sincerity. "Very kind of you too, ma'am," he added, turning toward Ariel. "Are your children fully recovered from the effects of the parasites?"

"Quite, Doctor, thank you; there was a residual fever in both of them while the organism was dying, but they are quite healthy now – isn't that right, baby girl?"

"Na," the little one responded, giggling into the shoulder of the captain's dress uniform.

The look on Jim's face, when she spit up all over him two minutes and fifteen seconds later, was priceless, even to a Vulcan.

* * *

The 'coffee' had, in true human form, turned into a meal and then after-dinner conversation; and while such intimacy with humans would not be his first choice for a way to pass the evening, he was after all a diplomat's son and as such gave no indication that he was ill-at-ease.

They had stayed in the Brown home past sundown now, which was early in the evening this time of the planet's cycle, and the house was lit warmly by almost an abundance of lamps and electric lights. Ariel's husband, Paul, had explained that it was a standard precaution in the colony, to keep the parasitic creatures out of their houses at night in an effort to protect the children and few lucky adults who had not been infected. Old habits were hard to break in any species, and he understood the humans' need for an abundance of light, after having endured the darkness of one of those creatures himself.

What he could not comprehend, however, was how easily the child, Peter Kirk, had thrown off the melancholy and grief he had shown earlier. The boy was currently flying across the room, a small replica of a Klingon Bird of Prey in his hand, shouting at the top of his lungs and making what were most likely supposed to be the sound effects which accompanied a phaser blast. The other child, Tommy Brown, was holding a small model of a Starfleet vessel, his dark head bent over it in rapt attention as the captain of the _Enterprise_, sprawled on the floor in a woolen sweater borrowed from their host while his jacket was drying out, explained the weak points in the hull and how the nacelles powered the vessel.

"See, it won't work like that," the captain was saying. "You can't just turn it on and off like a light switch, Tommy. The matter-antimatter mix has to be just right, or you'll blow your ship to bits. Unless you have a Vulcan aboard, in which case he might be able to come up with a formula for a cold-core start," he amended, smiling. (3)

"Then you're dead, Tommy!" Peter Kirk shouted, jumping off a floppy, plasticene-pellet-filled chair and sprawling in a heap at the other young one's feet. "Krshhhhhhht! We've shot out your Engineerin' section, so surrender!"

"Well, fine!"

"No, no, no," the captain chuckled, reaching up a hand and taking the model Bird of Prey from his nephew. He tapped it with one instructive finger. "One, Klingons don't take prisoners. And two: as for you, young man – Starfleet officers don't surrender to Klingons, you got that?"

"Whaddo I do, then?" the other child fairly wailed, looking helplessly at Kirk.

"Blow 'em up soon as you see 'em," was Peter Kirk's sagely advice.

"Blo!"

"Here, here, get the civilian out of this briefing," Kirk chuckled, indicating the toddler who had wandered past Spock's legs into the room, a ragged plush bear in one small hand. "Look here, squirt," he added, sending his nephew a mock glare, "you don't ever just shoot at someone without warning, understood? You would hail the vessel and ask to speak to their commander, Tommy."

"Yeah and then I'd shoot your nacelles off!"

"_Peter_."

"Well I _would_, if I was a Klingon!"

"What do I do then?" Tommy asked, gazing helplessly down at the Starfleet-model ship in his small hands.

Kirk grinned and leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This is what you do. You get your Chief Engineer up to the Bridge, and you have him create a false sensor reading to broadcast, making it look like your warp engines are about to explode. Because if that happens, you'll destroy everything in the sector, _including_ that Bird of Prey."

Footsteps. "Mr. Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor," he responded, not taking his eyes off the scene in the room before him.

"And you have your Communications Chief send out a fake distress signal to Starfleet, telling them you're about to blow yourself into the next galaxy, and…"

"If you have a minute, I need to speak with you." The words were devoid of any malice or even teasing, and that alone was indication of the gravity of the physician's intent.

He turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Regarding?"

"Regarding the health of a crew member, and don't act like you don't know exactly who I'm talkin' about," McCoy responded tartly. "Leave 'em in there and come out here for a minute."

He slipped silently away from the door, knowing that the captain probably had not even realized he was standing in the shadows, watching. McCoy led the way past the open living area where the Browns were talking quietly in one corner near the holographic fireplace, out to the vestibule.

"Anderson in Engineering sliced his hand and wrist open pretty bad. I'm on my way up to do minor surgery on the ligaments because he's allergic to almost all the anesthetics; have to monitor 'im closely and I don't want Chapel doing it," the physician told him, checking the chronometer on the wall as he withdrew his communicator. "That leaves you to take care of those two in there," he added, jerking one thumb backward toward the small playroom which housed the children and their captain.

He was uncertain what the expected reply to that was, and so settled for nodding.

This only served to irritate the physician, apparently, for blue eyes rolled expressively toward the low ceiling. "That means he's gonna need you at some point, Spock! He's not dealt with any of this the way he should! The kid is going to be fine I think, but –"

"Yes, the child," he mused, gently interrupting what could have escalated into a full-blown altercation which certainly would have been overheard by the occupants of the small apartment. "I am…slightly puzzled, by Peter Kirk's behavior, Doctor. Are you certain he is recovering as he should?"

McCoy sighed, a weary, dismal sound in the stillness. "Mr. Spock, children – human children, at least – are resilient. They accept change, assimilate it, much better than human adults. They recover more quickly from trauma, are able to forgive and forget more readily, and can basically just adapt to anything more quickly than a human adult, if given the time and the help to do it."

Spock nodded, cataloguing this information.

"He's had help from you, from me, from Jim – and he's begun the grieving process already. It's a good thing, that he's in there playin' like he is with someone his own age; it shows he's gonna be okay."

"And you are implying that the captain is not?"

"You bet your pointed ears I am!" McCoy hissed. "He's been so worried about that kid that he hasn't even started takin' care of himself yet! Adults take a lot longer to recover from things like this than children do, Spock."

"That may be; however, I am still uncertain as to your purpose in summoning me out here, Doctor."

"If you could just pretend for a minute that you _care_ more than a – a box of _rocks_, you might be able to figure it out!"

"Really, Doctor McCoy."

Suddenly the physician's eyes went wide, and then he slumped against the floral-papered wall of the vestibule. "What on God's green earth am I _saying_?" he murmured.

All human have their methods of coping, and Spock had long ago realized that this particular fiery human was no exception to the rule. Humor, rather than retaliation, he had found in his experimentation was always a better approach, and he applied the technique here.

"Nothing, as we are not _on_ 'God's green earth,' Doctor," he intoned dryly. "And as you are yourself quite exhausted to the point of not realizing just how alarmingly verbose you have become, might I suggest you beam up to the _Enterprise_, perform your minor surgery on Ensign Anderson, and then retire for the night?"

"Sent to my room for bein' rude, am I?" Spock's right eyebrow crept upward, and the physician chuckled. "All right, Mr. Spock. But before I go, there's this thing I wanted to tell you about when I pulled you out here."

"Please do so."

The physician glanced cautiously back toward the playroom, which was now reverberating with an verbal mimicry of a space battle, together with a dismayed wail from two-year-old baby human lungs. "I've been talkin' to the boy, Peter, all week. I'm a doctor, not a psychiatric counselor, but just the same I've been talkin' to him about the whole mess and so on."

"And?"

"He told me how Sam and Aurelan were infected; how Jim's brother died, Spock."

Spock nodded slowly. "Does the captain know of this?"

"I doubt it; he's not spoken a word about either of them this whole week – another thing that's not healthy, Spock. But anyway," the physician waved a tired hand in dismissal, "Sam and Aurelan were affected pretty early on in the eight months. They didn't fight it, according to Peter, because the parasites threatened to then infect the boy if they kept fighting. But then when they found out the _Enterprise_ was in this sector, Sam Kirk decided the risk was worth it; Starfleet had to know, or more people would die because of those monsters. He tried every chance he could to get a message through to the _Enterprise_ all of that week before we approached Deneva."

"The _Enterprise_ encountered that heavy ionic storm off Delta Phoenicia, which caused a communications blackout for three days and serious malfunctions for another twenty-eight hours," Spock supplied, though the inference was not really necessary; the conclusions were obvious. "We never received the messages."

"No," McCoy sighed. "The parasites finally killed him the day we approached the system; just a couple of hours later Aurelan then tried to answer on the private channel Jim has with them, but…well, you saw how much those things liked _that_ show of defiance."

"And the child?"

"He was stung just before we broke into the house," the doctor answered sadly. "Aurelan apparently was trying to keep the things out, away from Peter, but couldn't quite do it; the kid had just passed out from shock due to the attack when we heard the woman screaming there on the planet. You can figure out the rest."

"I believe I can," he replied quietly. George Samuel Kirk had died trying to get the word out, scant hours before help arrived, and his wife had been killed by the neurological destroyers while trying to protect her child; those two, among so many like them, had deserved a more fitting end than that which Fate had dealt them.

McCoy's communicator chirped. "McCoy here."

_"Ye said give ye fifteen, Doctor; Anderson's stable enough, just waitin' for his surgeon to show up. Are ye ready for transport?"_

"Yeah, I'm ready, Scotty. Spock," he added, stepping a safe distance away from the Vulcan. "Jim's still a little awkward around me, after all that happened in Sickbay with the parasites and the light test and all that. He's gonna need you, and _I_ need you, to help him."

If he knew how, he would have done so days ago – could the human not see that?

"I know you're not sure how," the physician continued, raising the communicator to his lips, "but we both need you to try. One to beam up, Scotty."

_"Aye, sir."_

"Do your best, Spock," McCoy said quietly. "Energize."

The physician began to disappear in the shimmering effects of the transporter beam, leaving him alone in the lamp-lit vestibule. Behind him, the sounds of playtime had died down, only a low murmur emanating from the playroom. He could hear the Brown couple still discussing the events by the fireplace in the living area, and caught several familiar names mentioned a few times in their discussion; they were wondering whether Peter would be staying on Deneva or returning to Terra – something that perhaps Jim had not yet considered, or considered asking the boy what he preferred.

"Bah-bye," a voice sniffled from down by his knees as McCoy completed de-materialization, and he looked down to see the human toddler standing there, looking with wide-eyed interest at the transporter pattern-echo as it faded from view.

"Indeed," he hummed softly, mind still on the other occupants of the playroom.

The child blinked. From the touch of the small hand which gripped for steadiness to his trouser leg, he could sense the swirl of baby-emotions that the child felt: _security_, _warmth_, _home_, _love_, _safety_, _sogladawfulmeanmonstergonenow…_

The sacrifice had been dear, but worth it, to rid the galaxy of such monsters, to ensure no other beings would be forced to undergo such inhumane, indescribable torture. Someday Jim would be able to see that, and would be able to think of it without pain.

For now, however, he must learn enough about the human process of dealing with grief that he could capably guide his captain through said process; and he would not learn such by standing here with a sleepy baby human.

"Come, _pi'skilsu_," he murmured, and turned back into the house, to the humans it contained. (4)

A small hand wrapped around his fingers, warmth curling against the chill. And if a human child could trust him, as he could sense this young one did, then perhaps he might be successful with a so difficult, and yet so very important, human.

* * *

(1) The Starfleet Silver Palm with cluster was one of the many commendations James Kirk received throughout his career; a partial list can be heard in the episode _Court Martial_ and the entire list can be read on Kirk's page of Memory Alpha.

(2) Riley was, according to _Conscience of the King_, with Kirk on Tarsus IV. He looks far younger than Kirk to me at least, and since Kirk was thirteen then I expect Riley was only a small child.

(3) See the episode _The Naked Time_, set in Season One before _Operation Annihilate_.

(4) _Pi'skilsu_ is, in a literal translation from the Vulcan language, _little fighter_ (as in _one who overcomes an adversary, is victorious_).


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Human Behavior (3/6)  
**Characters**: Spock, Kirk, various including McCoy, Peter Kirk, OCs  
**Rating**: K+  
**Word Count**: (this chapter) 3,367  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Operation - Annihilate_!. Reference to theme of Stockholm Syndrome referring to the neurological parasites. References to deleted scenes and script from _OA_. Yes, I am slightly obsessed with _OA_, but it's my favorite episode. :P Speculation for this and the other parts of the arc. Shameless h/c and character exploration. Lack of plot. The usual, in other words. Don't say I didn't warn you.  
**Summary**: _** Five human behaviors Spock did not understand, and one that he definitely did understand. **_ Six-shot, revolving around the episode _Operation - Annihilate! _and all its aftermath.  
**A/N: ** Again, for anyone who's been wondering, I am trying to finish up my WIPs but my muse appears to have taken an undeterminedly long holiday; it's been murder to even find free time, much less inclination to write. Bear with me; I promise I won't leave these fics forever without updates. This chapter's shorter, but I had planned it as a mild filler chapter; it picks up in the next two.

* * *

**III. Saying "I'd rather be alone" when the opposite is true**

Ariel Brown was just returning the captain's now-clean uniform tunic to him when he returned to the family room. The two young boys sat close together on the well-worn couch, tousled heads bent over a book of starship schematics, and barely glanced up at Spock's re-entry.

"Thank you," Kirk said, slipping the tunic back on over his undershirt, careful to avoid snagging the medals dangling off the fabric. "And thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Brown; it was very much needed, I believe."

"Ma," Julia declared after toddling over to the adults.

"I think that's a _you're welcome_," the woman chuckled, lifting the infant and holding her close.

"Peter, time to put that stuff away. Where's McCoy?"

This last had been directed at him, and Spock indicated the vestibule. "Ensign Richards from Engineering was injured and required close supervision under local anesthetic."

"That boy," Kirk sighed, and shook his head. "If he wasn't such a brilliant technician I'd switch him over to Archiving just for his own safety. Well, thank you again, Mrs. Brown," he added, turning back to the woman. "We'll be in touch with you before the _Enterprise_ breaks orbit."

"Captain," she trailed off uncertainly, but continued at Kirk's questioning look though she lowered her voice. "What will happen to Peter?"

"I…" the captain swallowed, looking faintly lost. "…honestly hadn't thought about it yet."

Ariel nodded, silent understanding clear in her expression. "Just, don't take him without letting him say goodbye, that's all I'd ask, Captain."

Kirk's lips tightened. "Certainly not."

Though busy ensuring that the child had retrieved all items he had brought into the house (how in the galaxy the boy had fit all those odds-and-ends in his small pockets was a minor temporal miracle), Spock had not missed the conversation and did not wonder at the fact that the captain had not yet considered the ramifications of the boy's future welfare. He was not aware if Kirk's brother had even left instructions or a will stating what was to be done with the child; all that would need to be decided in the very near future, for Starfleet would not permit them to remain in orbit indefinitely.

But he could see from the look upon the human's face, that the present would not be the time to inquire after the matter; for now, a return to the ship and its familiarity would be the wisest course of action for all concerned.

Peter Kirk was silent during the walk outside to the beam-up coordinates, eyeing the shadows with well-founded unease; but otherwise he gave no indication of distress. Upon returning to the ship, the child took himself off to Sickbay, where his temporary quarters had been set up under McCoy's fatherly care.

Strangely enough, Spock watched with concern, the captain seemed to barely notice that the child was navigating the ship without supervision. Kirk barely nodded and waved a goodnight as the boy entered the turbolift after a brief look back. Because the human appeared so completely lost in thought as to not notice Spock's gentle guidance to his quarters, he thought it not inexcusable that he activate the ship's computer Security Code Gold One, which would inform him of any and all of the captain's movements throughout the night. Such a breach of privacy was ordinarily invasive and therefore unacceptable, but in this case he deemed the cause sufficient.

And, shortly after ship's midnight, when the alert flashed up on his monitor screen, to inform him that the captain was no longer aboard the _Enterprise_, he knew the precaution had been justified.

-

Had the computer not alerted him, a worried Kevin Riley's message five minutes later would have, and it was not a quarter of an hour later that he materialized on Deneva at the same coordinates which had been the landing location of the captain. He was not surprised to find that they lay in the middle of a deserted street, just meters away from the Kirk home.

Unlike the other houses in the neighborhood, the house had only one light on rather than the complete illumination of the others, where the colonists were yet to break the habit of fearing that which came in the night. The solitary glow in itself told him what he needed to know.

The door was not locked; and why should it be, for the colonists were understandably still too petrified to leave their homes during darkness. Spock hesitated, one hand already poised to push the door open, and for an instant doubted the wisdom of his actions. On the three occasions this week when he had attempted to draw out the captain regarding his yet unreleased grief, he had been rebuffed with a ferocious anger which was highly uncharacteristic of the human. Even now, Kirk had made it clear to Lieutenant Riley that he wanted no Security guards following him, despite the fact that the order was breaking regulation. Riley had been sensible enough to ignore that countermand, and had comm-ed the First Officer off the record as soon as the captain had dematerialized. Spock was not a Security guard, and yet he was aware of the spirit of the order. Kirk would either be furious or else resigned to his presence at this moment, neither of which was the optimal scenario.

But the idea of facing one incensed Dr. Leonard H. McCoy and reporting failure to at least make the attempt was far more disconcerting than confronting a very stubborn human starship captain.

He shut the door behind him loudly enough to alert the house's occupant.

"You're late, Commander," a cool voice floated through the archway which divided the front room from the kitchen and living areas.

He paused in the half-gloom, somewhat mystified.

"I'd have thought you'd be here ten minutes ago, Mr. Spock. You really thought a Gold One was necessary?"

The words were mildly censuring, but not belligerent; Kirk was more resigned than angry, which was an improvement upon his previous state.

Spock moved silently through the deathly still house, toward the lit back room from whence the voice emanated. No answer, no refutation or defense was necessary, and they both knew it; he would not apologize for his actions and this man knew better than to reproach him for them.

He paused in the doorway, waiting for unspoken permission to enter, and Kirk glanced up. The human was in the process of sorting a sheaf of old-fashioned paper documents; obviously Jim was not the only Kirk who held a fondness for old Terran writing materials. But it was the presence of a pair of modest, wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on the human's nose which arrested his attention. He blinked.

A small grin tugged at the corner of the human's mouth. "I think they make me look smarter, don't you?"

"An unnecessary effect, as we are both aware of your genius-level intelligence quotient."

"I think that's a compliment and an agreement?"

He relaxed, seeing that, for the present at least, common sense had overridden the captain's defiance toward his interference. His own lips twitched, mirroring the not-quite-amusement. "As you wish, Captain."

Kirk smiled briefly, and removed the lenses. "I don't really need them, not yet anyway; perhaps I will later in life. Allergic to Retinax D," he added, seeing Spock's momentary puzzlement.

"Then…"

"Sam needed them; the allergy runs in the family, and he was mildly far-sighted," Kirk murmured, carefully folding the glasses and replacing them in a soft leather case atop what looked to be a legal document.

And then silence fell, a highly awkward state which only increased his unease. Why had he followed this man, with no plan in place and utterly no idea of what he could do to in any way ease the human's burden?

But, true to form, Kirk finally took pity on him and rescued him from his awkward stance just inside the door. "Sit down if you like, Spock. I'm not going to bite your head off again."

Now was not the time to pretend ignorance of the expression, and he did not attempt it. Slowly advancing, he finally chose the seat beside the human rather than the empty one across the small kitchen table.

Jim raised an eyebrow in mild surprise but said nothing about his choice.

"May I assist you in some way, Captain?" he asked after a moment, wishing to indicate his willingness but not drive the human further into his protective shell.

A weary sigh, and Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't think so, Spock…I just have to figure out what to do with Peter."

"Have you no relations which could take custody of him?"

"That's just it." Kirk glanced down at the papers he held for a moment. "My mother is fine with accepting custody of him, but there are his step-brothers to consider. Sam's first wife died several years ago," he added, seeing the surprise flicker across Spock's expression. "Andrew and Jacob, children by his first, are…seventeen and sixteen now, thereabouts. When Sam and Aurelan decided to accept a posting here on Deneva, they gave the choice to the boys whether to move with them or enroll in a private boys' school on Earth. They were old enough to make the choice for themselves, and decided to stay, while Sam and Aurelan brought Peter – Aurelan's child by her first husband – with them of course." (1)

Spock digested this information in silence for a moment. "The child is too young to be enrolled in the same school, I take it?"

"Peter's only nine. He's small for his age; yes, he's too young. But they're in New York, and that's a long way from Iowa."

"What does your nephew wish to do?"

The captain sighed. "His only answer is that he doesn't really care. I wish I could leave him here, because this has been his home for three years, but it's just not possible or wise."

"Perhaps the permanent decision could be delayed until you both are in a better frame of mind to decide?" Spock suggested.

A slow nod. "I guess that's going to have to do. I can't even go with him back to Earth, Spock; Starfleet says we have to be underway to the next star system in three days and they won't give me leave to go with him. Peter will have to get a transport ship back to Terra." Kirk's voice dropped sadly. "He shouldn't have to face all this alone."

Spock's jaw clenched slightly without intent. "No one should."

Surprising himself with the instant response, he saw the human wince, sharp grief manifesting itself through glimmering eyes. He resolved to make a rather pointed communiqué-call to the Admiralty at his earliest convenience. After all, what good was being the son of the Ambassador from Vulcan to Earth if one could not use that leverage when it pleased one to do so? To utilize the creative methods of negotiation when the occasion required was only logical.

Kirk knew his First well enough to know precisely where the conversation was headed, and was tactical master enough to attack in his usual fashion – as subtly as a Type One phaser array.

"The gesture is appreciated, Mr. Spock; but to be frank, I would prefer to be alone," Kirk said bluntly, while busying his hands in scanning and importing documents into one file on the padd before him, for easy access to the executor of his brother's estate.

Spock needed not be a licensed psycho-analyst to see the fine tremor in the almost franticly-working fingers, to know it indicated the human was lying. He never would understand this predilection of defensive humans, to say one thing when in fact their entire body language screamed the exact opposite.

"I have no doubt you believe yourself to be telling the truth, Captain," he replied quietly. "Nevertheless, I have found that what one prefers is not always what is best for that individual."

Kirk's fingers clenched on the stylus briefly. "And you're an expert on the fact, how?" the captain snapped.

He refused to rise to the bait. "I am not."

"Well, there you have it then." The brief surge of anger was gone, leaving in its place a flawless detachment that any Vulcan would have been proud of – but which Spock was well aware was abnormal and therefore unhealthy for a human. "If you'll excuse me, Commander, I have these documents to finish condensing before I meet with the executor tomorrow."

It was a dismissal, a clear one; and Kirk had fallen into his telltale habit of using his First's title when frustrated or angry (for he never used it under any other circumstances). The least confrontational, and most logical, course of action would be for Spock to retreat as he had before, having made the best attempt anyone could have expected of him – and far more than any true Vulcan would have.

Fortuitous for Jim, then, that he was only half-Vulcan.

He positioned his chair more comfortably in relation to the table, placed his hands folded upon its polished surface, and leaned back to wait.

He was studiously ignored for the next two hours, fourteen minutes, and fifty-seven seconds, as the human worked out his frustrations and emotions on the documents and padd before him, the angry skritching of a stylus the only sound which broke the uncomfortable silence. Finally, after the fifth time in as many minutes of watching Kirk rub his eyes and squint at the documents before him, Spock reached out to indicate the discarded reading glasses.

"Don't touch those!" The sharp exclamation sliced through the room, startling him.

"I was merely about to suggest you utilize them, else you may discover yourself in need of the Doctor's migraine medication before the morning arrives," he replied mildly. Spock moved his hands slowly to their original position, the motions gentle and fluid, as if attempting to not anger a cornered animal.

"They're not mine, they're Sam's," Kirk said, sighing. Dropping the stylus, he began rubbing his eyes with both sets of fingertips "Spock, I'm sorry," he added, voice muffled slightly by his hands. "That was uncalled-for. In fact, so is everything else I've said to you since you came in here…"

"I assure you, Captain, I have taken no offense."

A slight smile softened the harsh grief lines of the human's countenance as Kirk lowered his hands. "And that, my Vulcan friend, is exactly why you are the best thing that ever happened to me, after getting the _Enterprise_."

"I…am honored." And he was. The feeling – for that it was, and shameful as it was, it nonetheless existed – was mutual, though he could never respond so.

This exchange did not mean Kirk did not continue to work, ignoring his presence, but this time the silence was not chilled, painful to his overwrought and still weak mental defenses. For the next hour, Kirk scribbled on, composing letters and signing documents as the closest surviving family member, correlating and sending messages between interested parties. Spock, in the absence of anything more pressing than being a reassuring presence in the room, permitted his mind to drift into light meditation, secure in the knowledge that this human would never dream of distracting him whilst he was vulnerable, no matter how temperamental Kirk's emotions might be at the time.

Death, to a Vulcan, was simply a cessation of corporeal existence. The Vulcan mind, the soul, the _katra_, lived on; and as the life of a Vulcan was in the mind, then the body was only a convenient receptacle for the true essence. He did not fully comprehend the human tendencies to retain attachment to the shell of a being, the illogical insistence of reverence to what amounted to a glorified exoskeleton for the true essence of a life-form. Death was a simple ritual of katric exchange into the Katric Arc for a Vulcan, and life continued after the appropriate grieving process – there was none of this decision of property, of family relations to consider, no wake and no funeral and no shared meal between the bereaved, no headstone or monument and no dithering about the perfect inscription. A simple memorial to a noble life sufficed in his culture, and he remained in amazement at how humans could drag out such an affair for days, depending on the humans' religious and cultural observances.

Death was a much simpler matter for his people, and as such he struggled to comprehend how humans could deal with such a thing; not just the logistics of planning and making changes in life, but in dealing with the grief. No human possessed the mental ability to identify, control, channel, and then release emotions as a Vulcan did; to live with the constant pain of a void such as that which Death brought was difficult enough with such training – and _without_ it, he could not see how a man might cope without succumbing to madness.

It was that understanding which allowed him to merely sit back and observe, in an attempt to learn how this particular human was coping – and quite admirably, at least to outward appearances – with his own loss. He knew James Kirk better than anyone else aboard, possibly in the galaxy, and he knew the man turned to work – frantic, painstaking, exhausting work – in order to clear his head, order his mind, stave off thinking of the inevitable. This pile of legal paperwork, which he suspected was not truly as much work as Kirk appeared to be making it, seemed to be the answer in this case.

He was not at all surprised when, one hour and twenty-six minutes after their last brief exchange, a small thud alerted his meditating mind to the fact that Kirk's mind had finally lost its battle with his body, and the human had fallen asleep, head pillowed on one arm and the other hand limply clutching the stylus.

Spock began to rise from the last few levels of meditation, grateful for the reprieve to begin rebuilding those barriers which the neural parasites had been able to destroy previously this week, and eventually surfaced. A very human sigh threatened to escape his lips as he reached over to shut off the insistently-beeping padd. The blinking lights switched off and the noise ceased, and he silently extracted the stylus from Kirk's fingers and replaced it in its slot.

He debated waking the sleeping human, for the awkward position was definitely not conducive to restful slumber and would probably last a very short while, but finally decided that any rest was preferable to the captain gaining next to none as he had for the last week.

Spock lowered the harsh glare of the overhead light to a softer glow, and carefully removed the fragile reading glasses from their precarious perch next to the human's limp head; it would not do to have them damaged upon the captain's waking.

For a brief moment he considered doing as Kirk had requested, and leaving him alone. But Spock knew one thing about this unique being, which very few had ever guessed. During the many months they had served aboard this ship, he had discovered the captain's strengths, and had learned his weaknesses, seen Kirk's most pleasant memories, and noted his greatest fears.

And there was nothing in any universe which would make Spock of Vulcan leave James Kirk to face his battles alone.

* * *

(1) An often-forgotten and canonically unexplained fact is mentioned in _What Are Little Girls Made Of_: Roger Korby informs the audience that Kirk's brother's real name is George, and that he has three sons. If you _play the game_ (by that, meaning we ignore the fact that writers don't always pay attention when writing later episodes and take what's in the show as real canon), there has to be some explanation for why we only see Sam, Aurelan, and Peter on Deneva. I just chose this explanation because I needed one, not because I've really done research or thought about the possibilities – so don't regard that in any way as canonically influenced.


End file.
